For The Night
by Alias addict
Summary: angsty goodness S/V
1. One

For The Night Author- Alias_addict Feedback- I'll love you forever Distribution: Fine just give credit where its due... Disclaimer- Its mine! ALL MINE! No it all belongs to those evil ABC monkies... Summary- Angst, Rating- These earthling customs baffle me.  
  
A/n- I got bored. So sue me.  
  
Dedicated to everyone who read it before and all the pink bunnies  
"'It's like the mist is what's pretty, ya know? All gold and silver...too bad it can't stay like that all the time...' 'Nothing gold can stay.'"-Newfound Glory, Hit or Miss  
  
The light cast a warm glow on the soft blue room and radiated the sunrise back onto the bed in which I have slept the night. When I wake up it's still slightly dark, but there is an orange glow shifting around the room. It's the most beautiful thing I've seen in almost a year. The hotel room is lit with only candles, and has a huge window leading out to the porch which faces the east horizon. The sun is rising and reflects into the room. The light rays warm the room and for a second I almost forget who I am. This is the perfection of the moment. My mother taught me something when I was little. I had this stuffed dog. I think I named him Rex. Rex was my confident. I slept with him and brought him everywhere. Then one day I brought him to the beach. I was so sure, so damn confident that he could swim. That's how much I wanted him to be real. Little did I know there was nothing to be real in my lifetime. But as a child, so innocent, so oblivious to everything, I wanted Rex to swim so badly I threw him into the ocean. I can still remember the little face, bobbing up and down as the current brought him away from shore. I cried for hours. My parents were never big comforters. They believed in everything as a lesson. The mistakes you make now are the things you will learn from later, they told me. Every experience foretells it's consequence. I didn't understand this. Just yelled at my parents and cried a lot. On the drive back, my mother said something to me that I have not forgotten since: Nothing perfect lasts forever. The phrase that dictates my life. It was a month after that incident that my mother died. Died and became an enemy of the united states. Nothing perfect lasts forever. My mother's goodbye. And this now, so beautiful, so insanely perfect. You find a moment like this and rarely enjoy it. You just wait for the glass to break and the illusion to be shattered. Then you run away. I can hardly imagine something taking away all of this. The serenity of it is something that I rarely have. Just blissful silence, unsurpassable beauty. I looked over towards the balcony at the sun rising in the mist. As I look over, I see the man lying beside me. His face is relaxed, and he looks happier then I have ever seen him. A soft smile stretches across his sleeping face. The sun's rays dance their way across his body, finally resting on his closed eyes. He looks blissful lying here beside me, and for one moment, one flawless moment, this seems so real, so perfect, I almost am tempted to slip back under the covers and let sleep find me again. Then the glass breaks and the man turns back into my handler, a man I have sworn not to touch, sworn not to attach to, sworn not to love. Three more lies that weave themself into the half circle of hell I call a life. I pull on clothing quickly, trying not to watch him sleep, his beautiful face resting in utter elation. I can't remember last night at all, and my throbbing headache may have something to do with it. All I know is that I just woke up in a bed with my handler. Michael Vaughn. I'm not even supposed to look at him. When all my things are packed up, I pause at the door. I turn and take a picture of him sleeping. There will be a time when I need this. As I leave the hotel, I know I will pay for this night. Nothing perfect lasts forever. Then I take one last look at him, so beautiful, so perfect, and I almost love this man, almost let myself love this man. Then I leave. At the reception desk on the way out, I give the receptionist the message. When Michael Vaughn wakes up, he will have another woman beside him. How I would kill to be that woman. 


	2. Two

parte dos  
  
When I wake up I am almost blinded by the sunlight streaming through the glass window onto my bed. I have no idea where I am or what I'm doing here. I hardly even know who I am anymore. I roll over to find a woman lying beside me; about five foot four, blond, with a dimpled smile stretching across her face. Not my type, but no one has been my type since I met Sydney Bristow.  
  
I glance over at the clock, which reveals that I have indeed missed my flight back home. Where am I? The woman's name tag has a hotel name on it. My vision is blurred but I can make out Vegas' Best and a name. Cindy. Pushing away the irony of this, I ease myself out of bed and stumble over to the shower. I have a killer headache and am having trouble seeing in a straight line. I can't even remember last night. On a mission with Sydney, getting files from a casino. Vegas' Best. A casino and hotel. Probably the extent of which I will remember about last night. Eric always tells me if I drink I forget everything. I'm one of those rare cases that never remember later the day after. Hot water pours over my face and down my back. I'm washing something away but I don't know what. Eric taught me not to feel guilty about one night stands, especially in Vegas. So I don't. Something about it gets to me, though, and I shower for about an hour, just letting the water pour over my body and wash away my un-known sins. And I try not to think about Sydney. Mission Impossible. My punishment for the night will be missing my meeting with Sydney. She'll have to stand Lambert for five minutes of her life and I will be responsible. That's something I can feel guilty about. And then there was that dream last night...I can't remember much, just fragments which will never turn themselves into a whole. I always hated puzzles. Probably because I live in one. Sydney was prominently featured, as usual, but it doesn't seem like the nightmare when we both die. Once I killed her. She doesn't know but I have these dreams, these nightmares, more often than I see her a week, which becomes fairly often when Sloane gets his school boy crushes on Rambaldi or some other exciting spy crap. They usually end up with her dying with me, for me, by me. Or she runs away with someone who looks a lot like Hicks, that bastard. If I had Sydney, if she loved me, I would never dream of using her. I would rather die then betray her trust. My vision's coming back and I can see a small hotel room through the obscured shower door. My dream is also coming back to me, which may or may not be a good thing, so I turn off the shower and grab a towel. Sydney laughing, clearly looking happier then I have ever seen her. I never see Sydney happy. I get the distressed, I-need-to-bitch-about- my-life Sydney, the angry Sydney, the mad Sydney...never the happy, peaceful Sydney. She looks even more beautiful when she's happy. Her eyes light up and her smile is to die for. As I get dressed, I can see her face ever more clearly and I think she's smiling at me. We are together, somewhere, and now she's pointing at something and getting excited. I must be hesitant, because she grabs my hands and looks deep into my eyes. Then the background fades away and a new one comes in. She's wearing white instead of red, now, and is still looking into my eyes with something I know only because I can tell it mirrored in my face as well. Then she reaches up to kiss me, but my memory of the dream ends there. I walk back into the bedroom and for a moment I see Sydney lying there instead of the woman I am about to walk out on. Then it's just the girl and maybe the irony of the situation is getting to me. I grab the bags I have, which consist of a carry-on holding a book and a wallet. There's a picture of Sydney in the wallet, one I stole from security section. She's grinning at something Francie had said, and is positively glowing. On checking out of my room, the receptionist grins at my name, and says something along the lines of "so [i]you're[/I] him." She also gives me a message from Anne Burford. Aka Sydney Bristow. Aka the woman I was supposeed to debrief five mintues ago. "Your plane comes at one. Thanks for sticking me with Lambert." Short and sweet. I get to go home; I don't get to see Sydney. Which is a lie in itself, because I know I'll see her tonight. I've seen her almost every night for about two weeks now and she talks to me about trust and her father and can she trust her father and does her father even love her? I don't know, Syd, but I love you if it helps any.  
  
There is a cab waiting for me when I walk outside, courtesy of the One Night Stand hotel, and I get a glimpse of the casino as I drive away. Something about it stirs something in my lost memory and I badly want to know what it is. But I can't. Such is life. 


	3. Three

parte tres  
  
Nothing perfect lasts forever.  
  
These words linger through my mind as I stand next to the phone, daring myself to pick it up and call him. I don't think I can. Not after this morning. Waking up next to him was scariest and the greatest experience I have ever had in my life. And then I have to face the fact that I just slept with him, him who should be anywhere but in bed with me. And yet I have no memory of it at all. He could have been the one to wake up first, the one to live the guilt. But if he's having as much trouble remembering last night as I am, he'll figure he drank (I dare you to try a Vegas Special) a lot and then (I dare you, Sydney.) ended up in bed with (Only if you drink one too.) some woman that he (I don't thi-) randomly stumbled upon. (Michael Vaughn you are not going to force me into doing this by myself. Both of us or no one.)  
  
And so memories do flow back slowly. The Vegas Special and didn't that sign say "You won't remember it tomorrow?" Must have missed the sign. I drank the Vegas Special and I'm sure he did, too.  
  
Michael Vaughn. I just slept with him and he expects me to spend an hour talking to him and pretending that nothing happened. Well, maybe for him nothing happened. Whenever I see him all I'll be able to think about is his lips grazing my neck and as much as I'd care not to have those memories they'll come back soon and I'll have to face him seeing them replayed over and over in my mind. I never once imagined it would come to this.  
  
Or did I?  
  
I can pick up the phone and I can press ten buttons and I can talk to him for and hour pretending I don't remember what it feels like to hold him, to be held by him. Pretending I'm not remembering things (I love you, Sydney) every second (I love you and nothing perfect) I see him or think of him. (And nothing perfect lasts forever, Sydney, this will not last forever.)  
  
Things that I can't be sure are real or are just fragments of my twisted imagination. Did he tell me he loved me? Love. The whole night was about love. About me loving him and him loving me and then making love to him was just a side thing but oh god the way he smelled and the way he tasted...  
  
I have backed about five feet away from the phone and am staring at it like it's the devil and I want to see him (I feel drunk but my senses are so clear...Michael? Michael what is this?) so badly but I'm afraid of what will happen if I do. It's all coming back so fast without him, but then having to face him and talk to him while the images sift through my brain until new ones pop up... The phone rings and scares me half to death. I walk away a step, until Francie comes racing into the kitchen to pick it up. "Hello?" She asks breathlessly. There is a moment of silence and suddenly her face turns evil. "Damnit whoever the hell you are don't Joey freaking Pizza me I'm expecting an important call and I may just have missed it and- Joe? Oh my god, Joe, I'm so...yeah, I thought it was actually...when I told you about that I expected you wouldn't use it against me...yeah...really?" I'm not interested in hearing one side of a conversation, especially with Francie and her new boyfriend (Joe can do it for you. It's only five dollars here. We even have the dress and flowers thrown in for an extra buck. You can get the hardware next door.) Joe. Joe? What about Joe? Francie talks on with her invisible (My invisible friend, Sydney, but you're not so invisible now) boyfriend who she won't let me see. So I begin to walk (Run) away towards my room. (You ran away from him and you didn't have to take this on alone you would have could have should have) I don't make it five steps before my cell phone rings. The un-listed number could mean my dad or the CIA or "Hey." Michael. Or is it Vaughn? What do I call him? Does he even [i]know[/I] what happened? "Syd?" Everything is normal. Everything is fine. Everything is- "Hi." That one word takes all the energy I have, all the saneness, and if he's asking me to come to another nightly warehouse date I don't think I can without seeing him with his hands on my shoulders, staring into my eyes with this deep concentration, saying two words which I know were important but I can't remember. Go figure. "See you." The line disconnected. Cruel of him, not even giving me chance. Now I have to either call him (no) or go see him and person and watch him act normal when all my senses are blinded by the memory of his taste. (Two tasty Vegas Special's coming right up...you two ready for a wild night?) Damnit damnit damnit. If I had never started flirting with him in the first place, if he had never dared me to take that fucking drink none of this would have ever happened, none of this would be all screwed up. So I hop into my car unwillingly to face my fears, to face my fantasies. This is such a fucking mess. 


	4. Four

parte cuatro  
  
"Yeah, we're ready, unless Matt over here isn't game enough." "Bring it on, Anne" "I could take you with one hand." "Alright, you two. The Vegas Special." "One hand? Yeah right... thanks have some cash courtesy of my wallet." "Yeah thanks...both my hands tied behind my back. You'd be floored in a second." "Being floored doesn't have to be a bad thing, Sydney..." "Dirty!" "Is probably what this drink is. C'mon, we have to drink it together." "Three..." "Two..."  
  
"One second ago I would have sworn you weren't going to come." He grins, and motions me inside. One second ago I was reliving a guilty memory I wish I didn't have. You should take the shirt off, I like you better that way. "Why would I miss out on our daily ritual?" I forced a smiled and even a convincing laugh, because that's what spies do, we're trained to hide their emotions and manipulate them into what the audience wants to see. Michael shouldn't have to be an audience. He smiled too, but it was a genuine (100% real, I promise you. And prices here are better than at Tiffanys, huh?) smile, unlike mine, which was hiding the fact that I can't think of anything but the feel of his fingers lacing delicate circles on my back. "So, our mission was successful, right?" Another forced smile and a nervous swallow...see how much he remembers. Probably nothing because he seems just fine but doesn't he know this is killing me inside? "I'd say yes because Devlin told me so, but I really can't remember much. I must have been drunk as a stick last night. Vegas, you know?" "Seriously. I didn't see you after we did the brush past, I just figured you'd get home easily enough." "You didn't stay to watch me in case I lost all of my millions?" I stayed and watched much more than that. "Millions? Try ten dollars which you probably spent on a Vegas Special..." His face twisted up and shit he doesn't remember anything. "A Vegas who?" "Vegas Special. We passed by a sign on the way into the casino." "Ok." There was a silence which I suppose should have been peaceful but nothing is peaceful now, it's all complicated and tense and impossible to forget and how the hell can I do this? "You get back ok?" "Yeah." We were back to back sitting on the table and this way at least I didn't see his face, have to look into his eyes. I could never look Michael Vaughn straight in the eye and lie to him. "Good." It [i]isn't[/I] good and my ride back was the worst ride of my life, you know why? Because I remembered everything, every touch, every look, every word that happened after we entered that hotel room and not even anything before or after just that over and over and over again and how can I live like this, Michael, tell me how I'm supposed to live with this! "What's wrong?" "What do you mean?" "Just seems like there's something on your mind." "No, nothing. Just thinking." "What about?" You. "My father. It's just...I don't know if I can trust him about anything anymore. He seems so unstable and irrational and it's so..." "Confusing?" "Yeah, confusing. I don't understand why he won't get over what happened with my mother. Whenever she's brought up he gets all...crazy. Like he can't think straight." "Everyone gets like that sometimes." Yeah like me right now. "Sydney, what he wants is answers to questions that only time will reveal." Like why did I end up sleeping with you? What did we do, what did you say, do you love me because I think I love you and (I love you, Sydney and nothing perfect lasts forever this won't last forever, either) every second I see you in my memory and every second I remember what happened I become more sure and more unsure of how I feel and how this is effecting me... "Time reveals many things..." "Truer words have never been spoken." They have been you just don't remember and... Please Michael don't get off the table and don't look into my eyes please I don't think I can stand it... The telepathics didn't work as he turned around and looked my straight in the eye. He moved to put his hands on my shoulders and oh god he couldn't touch me.. "Remember, Sydney, whatever's happening...I'm here to get you through this. Always." How can you help me when [i]you're the fucking problem[/I], Michael? "Thank you." For memories that last a lifetime. Memories I don't want. "And, Syd, about your dad... (Do you think we need to call him?) I think he just needs to live with the consequence (No. Let's just do this...) that came with getting married." (I've got the hardware...we're all set to go now) I could feel my face turn white instantly and my hand immediately shot to my pocket, where it clutched onto an object I was previously unaware of... "The consequences of getting married?" (Michael Vaughn, do you...to hold....to cherish....through sickness...forever) "Yeah...Syd are you ok?" (I do) "I think...I need to...go..." (Sydney Bristow, do you...to love...through health...till death) "Sydney, what's wrong?" (I do) The clatter of my heels exploded against the silence of rain dripping on the warehouse roof as I ran as far away from him as I could. (You may kiss the bride) 


	5. Five

parte cinco  
  
I can't keep on living like this. Running away from the one person I run too, regretting something that could technically never have happened... Thinking the unthinkable. How can the unthinkable become the truth? How can you screw yourself over a million times until you're reduced to nothing in just one night? How can you marry the one man you've sworn never to touch, never to hold, never to feel for, never to love. Screw protocol and look where you get. One night in Vegas to change everything. And how am I supposed to look in him eyes every night and tell him everything's ok when everything is NOT fucking ok, that ok is far from how I am feeling right now? How can I lie and oh yes Officer Vaughn you're my friend and you're my allie and godamnit Michael you're my husband! And here I have to prance around like I don't know how damn much I want you. This is driving me insane.  
  
By now all the hard core evidence is in front me spread out on the bed I can't bring myself to sleep on because when I see it all I think of is... There's the pictures; black and white stills along with a few color photos of a grinning couple in a tux and dress that wasn't exactly wedding wasn't exactly casual. There's the happy couple walking down the aisle and the happy couple saying their vows and the happy couple kissing and god damnit there is no happy couple! There's just a girl with a ring in her pocket lying to (Ourselves, Sydney, we have been. I realized that now. So now, Vegas or no Vegas, drink or no drink, I still know that I love you Sydney. I love you so much...) herself and oh god when he proposed in front of Joe's Pastoral Service I knew he was going to but still when he got down on one knee and looked into my eyes... Steady drops fall lightly onto the pictures, and I suddenly pick the polaroids up and hurl them across the room. Happy couple nothing. One night in Vegas can screw you over but it can't kill you... It can't. Really.  
  
And I shouldn't be this dependant on him. Because as soon as I start crying I'll suddenly find myself in an abandoned warehouse with him close by or standing next to me or with his arms around me and then I'll sleep better at night knowing my guardian angel's watching over me. Guardian angel my ass.  
  
I look down at the half dialed number flashing on the gray screen and suddenly my phone finds itself next to the happy couple. Two more lies lying limp on the carpet. The next item in the pile of "how I screwed myself over" was another picture. A color photo of him lying on the bed peacefully. I take out my big box of photos and find one of me in a similar position, one Danny took of me sleeping the night after he proposed. I put both in the back of my wallet. The rest of the photos I pick up and begin to stuff in the bottom of my sock drawer. As I come to the last one I hesitate at the picture of the happy couple after that fatal statement that screwed my life over a thousand times. Our first kiss was when we got hitched. Great. None the less, I stick the picture behind my mother's in the picture frame. There it can be happy to live under Irina's evil glare. Maybe I'll burn the pictures. Maybe then their images will stop drifting in and out of my head, which wasn't always a bad things considering the alternative. Not that the alternative was bad, but god, every time I see him, every time I [i]think[/I] of him I want him more and more I can't live this way forever. I'll have to tell him sometime. It would be so easy. I could just fax him the form lying face down on my bed. Let this kill [i]him[/I] inside, let [i]him[/I] remember slowly, remember piece by piece the activities of that night. Let [i]him[/I] ponder over the happy couple.  
  
The phone rings as I speculate over the last item lying on the bed, that being the simple but beautiful diamond ring. I'm so afraid to even touch it. I walk over to the phone and drop down to my knees and look at the number calling.  
  
I let the phone ring. It's just some damn pizza place with a wrong number. And the ring is calling ominously. I walk over and get a chain from the jewelry box, and, with as much care as possible not to touch the object itself, thread the chain around the diamond and fasten the chain around my neck. I shiver as the metal band brushes against my skin, and quickly tuck it under my shirt. "Sydney..." The fact that I have a voice mailbox kills me and it takes everything in me to walk away from the phone. As the door to my room closes, I hear his faithful words... "Number three, Syd. I need you." I need you, too, Michael. More than you could ever know.  
  
* 


	6. Six

parte seis  
  
"I feel drunk but my senses are so clear...Michael? Michael what is this?" "The. Touch. Of. Looooove." "You're definantly singing now...just thank god it's not karaoke night." "Aww...then we could have had a cheesy karaoke bar romance!" "Every girl's dream..." I laughed. "My god...Will..." She said after a minute, grinning and shaking her head. "What?" "Will did that once...he brought me to a karaoke bar, sung this horrible love song, then tried to get me drunk." I raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Poor Sydney, getting seduced by every man she sees." "It wasn't funny! He was like... 'Have another drink, Sydney! And another! Let's get drunk!" I laughed again. "Will sounds like a cool guy. But the trick to getting someone drunk is to [i]dare[/i]them to drink up."  
  
She opened her mouth, then closed it. "Very funny." "You think I jest?" She stared at me for a minute, sort of grinning. Then she snapped out of and made a supreme effort not to look at me. Because if she did, she'd probably realize that I [i]wasn't[/i] kidding. Not in the least. "I can't believe I let you talk me into drinking that." "If I'm correct, I believe that [i]you[/i] are the one who originally dared me." "Oh yeah, I want your sexy body." She said, rolling her eyes and grinning. Then she sighed sleepily and leaned back on me. I put my arms around her and smiled. "I have a question." "Anything your heart desires." "Can I call you..."  
  
"Michael?" I brought my head up from the table where it had been resting. "Of course you can." I saw her face scrunch up. "What?" I looked around. I wasn't in Vegas, didn't have my arms around her. "Sorry, I must have been...Nevermind." I mumbled. She was leaning against the chain link fence, and her face unreadable. I could sense hesitancy, anger, annoyance, and for a fleeting second something that looked like...desire. But I could have been wrong. "You called?" She was pissed off, and I wondered what I had done wrong...something about what I had said before upset her. Her parents or whatever...which was strange. My words were meant to be comforting, not damaging. "Yeah, I just...well, you kind of..." Why did I call her? Because I was concerned about her. Damn me and my emotional attachment. "You what?" Her eyes sparkled dangerously and I saw a fire lighting within them that terrified me. "I just wanted to make sure you were ok. I mean, you left kind of suddenly, and i wanted to make sure I hadn't done anything to offend you..." "Offend me? Trust me, Michael, you've done nothing to offend me." Michael? "Then...just...why did you run out like that? You worried me..." Her dark eyes flashed. "I worried you by running out...Jesus, Michael, what are we, married? Look, you are a skilled agent. You report counter missions to the CIA's mole inside Sd-6. I am nothing more than an asset to the CIA, or to you, do you understand that? There is nothing else there." I took a step back. Her eyes were pounding into my brain, staring through me. "Sydney, you know that-" "NO, Michael, there is no hockey game, there is no Vegas, there is no us, ok? Why can't you understand that? The rules of protocol are written down in black and white!" "Sometimes you have to read between the lines, Sydney..." I muttered softly. She shut her mouth quickly and her face changed instantly from anger to an un-readable but much softer expression. "I live between the lines, Michael. There is nothing there for us." The distance on her face killed me and I took a step towards her. "Maybe you just have to look harder." Her eyes flashed dangerously as I moved towards her and her previous calmness was all but gone. "Damnit, Michael, don't you understand me? There is nothing here! We'll only end up screwing each other over and messing up something that was never intended to be messed with in the first place." I was at a loss for words. "Sydney...is there...was...did I do something?" She glared at me. "Don't credit yourself with having an effect on my mood. But, yes, Michael Vaughn, you did do something. You did a lot." She shook her head and stared into an unknown corner of the warehouse, her face softening and then returning to it's previous glare in under a second. "What did I...Sydney, why won't you tell me what's wrong?" She paused and bit her lip. A ray of light passed her face and I could see she had been crying. "Syd, are you ok?" "Damnit, Vaughn, when am I ever ok? Have you ever looked at yourself, reall tkaen a step back and seen who you really are? What you see is a well- off man with a good job and a good life. Do you want to know what I see, Michael? I see a little girl who is one step from total chaos, one step from falling of the edge. I see someone who has seen more death, more destruction, more hate merely at a day at the office then anyone deserves to see in a lifetime, someone who has no one but themselves to rely on, and even that source is so shaken up that she is living her life off-balance. Do you understand that? My life is merely waiting for the one thing that will tip me off balance and send me over the edge." She turned her back to me and stared into the distance. Then she turned back around and I could see the glimmer of tears on her cheeks. Despite these, her voice was low and bitter. "Do you want to know where you come in, Michael? Do you remember that day I walked into your office with that mid life crisis looking hair and smudged make up? That was the closest I've been to falling, to motion myself into sleep and never waking up. I was teetering on the edge to begin with, and when that one support that Danny had been suddenly collapsed, I was this close to falling. But then I walked into your office and ever since then the support that Danny had been was replaced by another, sturdier support which has remained there for so long that if it fell again, there would be no question as to whether I would be still standing. But then, then something happened, and that support is gone. Don't you understand? What you did...what we did...it's over now. I can't keep going on like this. So... it's over." She began walking towards the exit, tears streaming down her face. "Syd. Sydney! What did I...did we...what happened? Sydney, please don't do this..." I ran to catch up with her and caught her arm. She stood for a second and looked down at my hand, and I could see desire written all over her face before she shook her head and swallowed back her tears. "I've been there, Michael. Don't make me go back." With that she looked into my eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks, and left the warehouse.  
  
I sat in the warehouse for almost an hour before I really got pissed at her. She had no right to leave me like that- just to walk out with a thousand questions left unanswered, to throw in my face something I don't even know about. She had no right to make me feel guilty for something I didn't do. I ran out to my car and headed in the direction I figured she had left- towards Will's house- while taking out my cell phone. I wasn't allowed to have her number on the speed dial, but I had it memorized since I learned it, so that wasn't a problem. It rang three times before someone picked it up. I could see her hesitating before answering. But I figured she was searching blindly and picked it up before looking at the caller- I didn't expect her to actually answer. When she did, her voice was low and dismal. "Yeah?" Maybe she did know it was me. "Francie?" Maybe not. "Sydney." I heard her breathing on the other end of the phone line. "Sydney!" She remained silent. "Damnit, Sydney, you have no right to do this! I can't fucking read minds! I don't know what the hell you're talking about, about you, about me, about us, about whatever we did...what did we do? You can't even give me the gracing decency to tell me what the hell this is all about! And then you come expecting me to comfort you and save the day! God damnit, Sydney, don't you think you've put me through enough pain already?" "I love you." She said softly, then hung up. 


	7. Seven

parte siete  
  
I seriously considered throwing the phone out the window by the sixth ring. At the seventh the phone was in my hand and poised to be hurled into the highway. At the eighth ring I realized I was already home, stuck the phone in the glove compartment, and walked towards my house. As I reached the door I paused; tears were still sliding slowly down my cheeks and there was no way I could plaster on a fake smile and expect them to believe my lies. I didn't even have the energy to smile anymore. I walked back slowly to my car and retrieved the phone. It was still ringing. I accepted the call and held the phone to my ear. "Sydney! Sydney...god, Sydney...Syd I need to talk to you..." He was out of breath and his tone wasn't the anger I had expected, but instead kind of dismal, sad. "Don't call me again." I whispered, then shut the cell phone off. All of the shit I had said to him before was wrong, wrong and a mistake on my part. And then when I told him that I... Mistake after mistake I've made with him sweep through my head and damnit this is my fault, my mistakes, my consequences. The consequences of getting married. Cute, Vaughn, very cute. Guess what? I am fucking [i]living[/I] this consequence, every day, every hour, every second, and little can you know how it kills me to look into your eyes and remember saying the two words that screwed me into the ground. And no I'm sorry but I can't tell you what's wrong and I can't tell you why I'm crying because why would poor little michael have to feel any guilt about something he did to me but just doesn't remember. Why didn't I wake up first? Why didn't I go back to sleep, so we could face this together? Why and why and why, I can keep questioning myself over and over but it doesn't matter. What's been done is done. I've married and slept with a man who can think of me as nothing more then an agent who he has a crush on. All the while I still have to sit on the table and stare into his eyes and yes, Vaughn, I understand, and yes, Vaughn, I'm your ally and yes you're my fucking guardian angel. Where was my guardian angel in Vegas? Weren't wacthing over me, then, were you? No, instead you were proclaiming your love in a drunken state, enjoying yourself knowing that you wouldn't remember a thing in the morning. Guardian angel my ass.  
  
I turn the phone back on and call Francie. "Sweetie," I can manage through angry tears. "I think I might come home a little late tonight...don't wait up for me. Have a good-" "Don't give me that bull-shit, Sydney! You are in front of the house in your car and I need to talk to you. Now." Shit. "Francie..." "You know that picture frame that guy from work gave you? You know, that innocent, nothing-more-than a friend guy that decided to give you a Christmas gift? Yeah. Well, I was admiring it, you know, looking at the photo of your and your mother. And while I was holding it guess what fell out. [I] What fell out, Sydney?[/I] Please tell me it was not a picture of you getting married! TELL ME IT WASN'T! Tell me you did not get-" "I have to go, Francie..." I whispered into the phone. The tears were now pouring down my face and clinging to the dashboard were my forehead now rested. "SYDNEY!" I heard the phone click and felt myself toss the thing out onto the front grass of my yard. Then I drove away. I didn't really know where I was going, nor did I care, just as long as it was behind Francie, in front of Michael, and as far away from that damn happy couple as I could be. There was no strategy to the madness- impulse was the only thing driving my car and fear was driving my mind to a point on the brink of insanity. Suicide is such a tempting offer. So was that drink. But it's not fair to blame him. It's not his fault I dared him to drink, not his fault that we got married, not his fault he loves me, not his fault I love him more then he knows and it's not his fault for anything because it's never michael Vaughn's fault he's just the agent and god damn how can it be his fucking fault if he doesn't even know what the hell he's getting blamed for? So now it's resting on my shoulders. Wonderful. Michael on one side singing why are you crying in his I love you I hate you expression, the other side hosting Francie asking why I got married and when I got married and who I married and how I got married- Francie I didn't even [i]want[/I] to get married so get the hell off my back! It would be so easy to tell him, so easy to tell Francie, so easy to make this all better again. So easy to go back to normal. Like I've ever been normal. The closest to normal I've ever been was that one morning, that one morning looking at the most perfect thing my life ever gave to me, the one perfect thing which I then went on to twist and mold into my creation until the perfectness had all but disappeared in my own utter sense of mortality. No, things could never be normal.  
  
I parked on the side of the road and got out of the car which I was all but sick of. Everything was beginning to remind me of him and think of him and god damn even the air freshener was beginning to smell like his cologne. I ran my hands through my hair as if my appearance mattered, as if anything mattered. Well, the sanity of my friends was one thing that did which was why what had been done with had to be taken care of. Will answered on the second knock and let me in. I looked at him for a minute before I went inside- I didn't recognize him at first. Finally I went inside and sat down at the table. "Coffee?" He offered. I nodded. I didn't really need anything but michael and forty eight hours of sleep, but since both had been non-existent for awhile I figured that coffee could be a poor substitute for the latter. He made a pot and sat down. "What's up?" I loathed his ability to be happy, even smiling. "I'm going to go away- on vacation, sort of...for about... awhile, I guess. I just need you to tell Francie for me...maybe go spend some time with her. She's going through a pretty hard time..." He watched in amazement as I drank half my cup in one gulp. "Just please...promise you'll make sure she's safe, ok? Promise?" "Yeah, sure, anything, I'll go pack right now...are ok, Syd? Is something wrong?" "Nothing, I just need a break from work." And marriage. I managed a big smile which cracked right after he turned his back to put his mug on the counter. "Be safe, Syd, I'll miss you!" He hugged me as I tried not to start crying. "I'll miss you, too." I smiled again, an almost real smile, but I know if had seen my blank expression and looked into my eyes he would have realized it was impossible to master this feat. I said a weak goodbye and then slowly trudged my out the door- Will was faithful and would go to Francie as soon as he finished packing. He was good that way. I walked down the driveway and looked around, lost, until I remembered my car was to the left- left was which way again? Everything was becoming a blur and my cried-out eyes were blank and expressionless. I wandered around until I spotted my car, then headed down towards it. The sidewalk was deserted except for one jogger and I'm sure the day would have been a beautiful if I could see in anything other than shades of gray. I was halfway to my car when the jogger paused and stopped. He stood there and stared at me, un-moving. Once I realized who it was, I swallowed and began walking towards my car again. He began walking too, and was closer to the car by about ten feet. As soon as I saw his face up close I began crying again, and by the time I reached the car he was already standing by the drivers side door. He looked just about as lost as me. "Sydney..." He muttered. I turned around and walked back towards Will's house, crying even harder. I heard him coming behind me. "Sydney!" Gray quickly flashed to red and the anger which had been on the edge of exploding for some time threatened to spill. I spun around and he stopped walking. My eyes glazed over with fire. "God Damn, Michael, don't you ever listen? Leave me alone means fuck off, not feel free to stalk me!" He remained silent and stayed where he was. I walked towards him and then past him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back. "Damnit, Vaughn!" He pulled me right up to him and my anger slowly began to drift away as I was slowly intoxicated by his scent. "You have no right to do this." He challenged. My breathing slowed and I was overwhelmed by how close he was. "You are going to tell me what the hell this is all about! Starting with Vegas, because that always seems to roll the lucky numbers with you." His voice was low and harsh, and as he spoke to me he looked straight into my eyes. Finally I tore my gaze away and brought myself out of hold, then started to walk away until I turned back to him. "Don't follow me." I whispered bitterly. I made it to my car and drove away without looking back. 


	8. Eight

parte ocho  
  
hold on if you feel like letting go hold on it gets better then you know dont stop looking you're one step closer don't step searching, it's not over - good charolette  
  
There is this certain state of mind a person receives right before all senses disappear. It's like this crude level of sanity that allows you to totally leave yourself. In that one instant before careening from reality forever, everything in my life almost seemed perfect: I was married to an incredibly gorgeous, funny, caring guy. I had a best friend who was always there for me, and a job that paid well and let me travel the world. So distorted is this sense of reality that I almost swerved my car around and went back to find him. Then I could introduce him to Francie and be happy and joyful and normal. And in this second of normalcy, I became so lost in my own mind, my own twisted fantasies, that I didn't see the truck until it had slammed into the passenger side of the car in front of me. That I didn't render the glass shattering and screams of pedestrians until someone pulled me out of my car. I could faintly hear voices talking quickly but none of the speaking registered to words. Images that looked like faces crowded over me. I couldn't recognize any of them. Someone was picking me up now and suddenly I was aware of a sharp pain in my back. The sharp pain moved somewhere deeper as I was able to focus my mind to clearly see one of the faces above me. He was so worried...always worried. "Michael..." I whispered, my voice barely audible. I saw him look down at me, then look away. Then I was aware of nothing but blackness.  
  
I first saw Francie's face. Then Will's face appeared above me. I knew that I should probably be grateful that I was home, at my house, with my two best friends, but it seemed more like a nightmare then reality. I would rather be with my father right now then with these two people above me. In a someone's idea of a sick joke my two friends disappeared and were replaced by my father. I attempted to prop myself up and found I was on a sofa. I looked around, then came back to my father. "Agent Vaughn found you after the car crash- he brought you to me. We're taking care of all the financial issues as I speak." I nodded weakly. "By some odd twist of fate, you miraculously came out un-scathed. There were no injuries from your sudden stop, and the damage from the crash in front of you did nothing to you or your car. You probably passed out from the shock. You were lucky Agent Vaughn was there to get you out before someone took you to a hospital- the closest one is Sd-6, and all their conversations are recorded. Are you ok?" Am I ok? What kind of question is that? I'm married to my handler and he doesn't know it. I'm in love with my handler and he doesn't know it. I've had sex with my handler and he doesn't know it. And every second I feel one step closer to the edge. "My back hurts." He nodded, face expressionless as usual. "You may have experienced some whip lash. You were going pretty fast when the accident hit." "Speeding, in fact." Francie's voice floated in. My father looked at me. "Good luck." He nodded, then began to walk away. He hesitated for a moment, then dug something out of his pocket and tossed it to me. He nodded and left. I can't help but realize that life is torturing me. When I think about it, I can easily wish that the truck had hit my car and killed me. I mean, what's left in my life to live for? My father treats me like an agent, my two best friends don't even know who I am, and the two people I work for are the devil and my husband. It's hard to tell the last two apart sometimes. So god damn hard to understand why I had to wake up first, why he couldn't remember, why me, why him, why us. Why this is all so hard. I look down at the crumpled envelope in my hands am so tempted to throw it in the fireplace that once held pictures of my false childhood. But as always I'm forced to remember it's not his fault, never, ever his fault. He's my guardian angel. He protects me. He always is right and always wins in the end. He never deserves the pain. Yeah, well he fucking got me drunk and then married me and then slept with me and no, I don't think the whole thing was his fault- it's a balance of responsibility. So why am I the only one who has to deal with the consequence? Why the hell don't I just tell him? Yeah, and then kill myself. Because I really [i]don't[/I] want him to suffer through the same things I'm going through, and I [i]do[/I] feel responsible for everything that happened. But I've tried to convince myself over and over that I can go on normally, maybe even forget, go back to when things almost seemed normal. That I could look into his eyes and lie and tell myself I was under the influence, that if I got a second chance I wouldn't go back and do the same things over again. Francie was, by now, sitting in front me holding something in her lap. I really didn't want to do this. "You didn't get hurt?" "No." "At all?" "Not a scratch." "Good." We sat in silence for a minute when she turned to me again. "Can I borrow a buck?" Her eyes glittered dangerously. I nodded and handed her my wallet. She dug through it and pulled something out. The wallet landed back in my lap. Francie stuck out her two "treasures"- the first a black and white still of the happy couple, the second my wallet picture of happy sleeping michael. She shook her head and looked up at me. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "Is there something you want to tell me, Sydney?" The black and white still was one of about 6 of the happy couple. I picked up the picture and smudged Mr.Vaughn's face with my slightly bloody finger tip. I then turned the picture to Francie and used all the energy left within in me to smile, big and happy. "That's my parent's wedding. It's one of the only pictures I have left of it." Francie took the picture and cleaned off the spot I had smudged. "Looks a lot like you." "Ew, marry my dad? I did take after my mother though..." My false sweetness sickened me. I smiled again. More of it and my face would crack. "Hmm." Francie commented, not buying any of my bullshit. "And who is this?" She pulled out happy sleeping michael. Seeing him made me hesitant. It was hard to lie around him, about him. "My friend Matt. On one of my business trips Dixon dared me to get a picture of him sleeping." She raised and eyebrow. "Who was sleeping next to him?" "Come again?" "The bed, on the other side- someone was sleeping there. You can tell." "Probably his girlfriend." "What's his girlfriend's name?" "Um...I think it's..." I took the ultimate plunge. "Anne." "Anne. Really? Interesting. So was Matt here marrying your mother?" I couldn't meet her eyes, and felt tears welling up in my eyes. Francie's tone changed instantly. "Sydney, I'm not sure whether to say congratulations or fuck you." "Francie I didn't expect this to happen..." "Yeah, well you don't expect anything to happen do you? All your trips, all the secrecy....every day I feel like I know you less, not more. And as each day passes, I'm not sure I [i]want[/I] to know you." She looked down at the pictures. "I'm done with your bull shit, Sydney. You can come straight or leave this house." I looked her straight in the eye. "I'm sorry Francie." I whispered, then got up and left. When I got outside, I leaned against the door and cried. The pictures in my hands fluttered to the ground. I picked them up and shoved them in my pocket. It was fine when it was just me and him. I could live with that, no matter how painful the sight of his green eyes were. But now..now everything had blown out of proportion, everything was crazy and screwed up. Everything I thought even close to normal had twisted to a sense of reality attached to it now and the only thing it all came down to was him. My tears quickly stopped and were replaced by my hatred and anger for him- after everything I had done for him, this was how it had to be. Ok.  
  
But every action has an opposite one to oppose it. 


	9. Nine

parte nueve  
  
[i]Joey's Pizza Specials[/I]  
  
I looked over the note again and again but there was nothing else there. "Damnit, Vaughn!" I yelled. The crumpled envelope found itself in the middle of the road, where it was soon reduced to shreds by angry drivers. "What the hell is your problem?" A man in the car next to me looked over and flipped me off. I would have gladly kicked his ass, but I had things to do. People to see. One person in particular. How cute of him to use our little codename. Bet he felt special about it. Good for him. He can feel special. He deserves to feel special. Yeah, special my ass. One the note of special, though, that was another cute little codename to say we should meet at the gym. That was good. We could "discuss" things while I pummeled him. Yes. That would be fun. And now I'm scaring myself. However, scary or not, I need to have a little "talk" with Mr.Vaughn. Because of him, my life has now gone from screwed to completely and hopelessly impossible. I turn on the radio. It's some classical station playing "The Nutcracker"- Will was in my car last. The music was smooth and calming. unfortunately, I was wild and dangerous. I threw my pager at it. The music shut off. What a great reinforcement to the old phrase "violence doesn't solve anything." Yeah, well sleeping with your co-worker doesn't either. [i]Marrying[i/] your co-worker defenitly doesn't get you anywhere. And that nagging feeling that I really don't regret anything was probably least helpful of all. And plowing through traffic, I slowly begin to realize that although driving drunk is dangerous, driving drunk on adrenaline is insanely mad. You have to remind yourself every three seconds that taking out your anger on the drivers in gridlock won't help you. Finally, traffic began moving again and I exited onto the road that would ultimately lead to my destination. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to be there. After all, the person I was about to meet just screwed up my job, lost my best friend, and made my second chance on love impossible. The fact that I've been resorted to thinking like I'm in some sappy romantic comedy just adds to the heat welling up inside. All the wrath, outrage, exasperation I've been letting roast inside me has finally sent me over the edge. I seriously need to blow off some steam. The gym would be good for that. A positive way to take out anger. But still, I get so damn tired of that same punching bag. It just stays there, swings back at me so I can hit it again. It never fights back. It doesn't deserve my ever inclining madness. Only one person does. Myself.  
  
The gym was packed today. Dozens of people swarmed around, looking for places to work out. I walked out of the men's locker room and sat over at a bench beside the mat. I watched as a father and son finished up in a kick boxing lesson. They left hand in hand, smiling at each other. Good to know some people in this world can still be happy.  
  
I watched the doors until I saw her walk in. She had that sexy I-just- got-up look to her, but as she approached I could see the fire sparkling intensely in her eyes. She looked ready to kill someone. I had a bad feeling that someone was me. "Why did you bring me here?" She asked in a low voice, pretending to strech with me. "I need to talk to you." "Yeah, ok, tell me again why you brought me here?" "Sydney..." "Look, Michael, I don't want that Sydney bull-shit. I don't want any of your bull-shit, so if you have something to say I suggest you get to the point." I stumbled back a step. Her eyes burned a hole into mine. I tried to say something but couldn't get the words out. "Ok, since you seem to be short on everything but bs, I'll give you an offer- we fight. If I win, I leave, and you get me a new handler and stay out of my life. If you win, you can tell me whatever the hell you brought me here for. Deal?" My eyes darkened. "Sorry, I think the deal is if you win you get the car, and if I win I get to sleep with you." She glared at me. "Good thing I'll win then." She walked out onto the mat and lowered her eyes when she saw I wasn't following her. "I could leave now. I'm at least giving you a chance. Hell, I'll even give you an advantage. One hand behind my back." Her left hand disappeared. I got up and walked over to her. I began walking over to her. "What the hell do you think you're doing here, Sydney. I hate these games!" She responded by aiming a punch at my face. I blocked it and held her hand. She whipped out her left leg and knocked me off my feet. Her hand twisted out of my grasp. I hit the mat and she leaned over me, then pulled my up by the sides of my shirt so I was face to face with her. The heat was overwhelming. "Hit me." She demanded. I threw a feeble punch, which she blocked easily. "I'm not playing games here, Michael. If you don't hit me now I will bring you down and walk out of here. Feel lucky I'm in such a good mood, and fight like you were trained." "Both hands." I spit back at her. She threw her left hand out from behind her back and aimed it at my stomach. I easily blocked it, and the punch that she threw with her right hand. She twisted both hands and kicked me in the stomach. I took a step back and she stayed where she was, obviously waiting for me to attack. I walked a step closer to her. "Sydney, this is craz-" She threw her left foot out, almost catching me in the side again. Instead I caught it and shoved her backwards. She maintained balance and blocked the three punches I threw at her, finally catching the last one and twisting my hand around. "My name.." She muttered darkly, bringing a hand around to lock my other shoulder so I couldn't use my arm. "Is Agent.." She kicked me in the stomach- hard- and brought me to my knees. From there she let go of my hands and took my moment of confusion to pin my shoulders down to the mat. Her legs wrapped around my waist and I found myself pinned under her. "Bristow." She finished, her eyes glowing with fire. "Well, Agent Bristow." I murmured. "I've imagined this before but not exactly under these circumstances." Her eyes flickered for an instant, and I took the moment to flip myself on top of her. "But I prefer to be on top." Her glare deepened, then quickly disappeared with a new, un-readable emotion I had only seen in glimmers before. She reached her head off the mat in a smooth motion until her face was merely inches away from mine. Her eyes stared straight into mine, and for a second they over-powered me. I tore my gaze away, but she remained in her position. "I think I'll you a story, Mr.Vaughn." She said. "But I'd prefer to be on top." "No, I think the deal said being on top gave me the chance to spew out my bull-shit." "Ah, of course." She replied, her face still set in that placid expression. She moved closer to me and drew her tongue across my lips. I weakened for a second, but that second was all she needed to flip me back over. As I looked back into her eyes, I could see the fire sprung back within them. She did not seem to be affected by what she just did at all. "Correct. Now, on with my story. Are you listening?" She took one of her hands of my shoulder and pulled my face back to face hers. I was about to move my arm before she pinned it again. I avoided her eyes as she went on. "This is the story of the two happy, screwed up people. Once upon a time, there was a girl named Anne and a guy named Matt." Her eyes flashed. Anne and Matt... "Have you ever heard the story of Anne and Matt?" I glared at her. "Good. The ending will be a killer, then." She grinned, but in a scary sadistic sort of way. "Well, Anne and Matt were good friends, but their lives were both fucked up. Majorally. Anne had considered suicide more then a regular person should. Matt attempted to drown his problems with booze and temporary girlfriends." She stopped and her eyes glazed over for a second. She looked in between killing me and crying on my pinned down shoulder, until she realized I was staring and snapped back to her vicious grin. "Well, one day Matt and Anne took a little trip, to, say, I don't know, Vegas." Her grin suddenly disappeared. The almost distant crazed hatred took over and suddenly I realized this had to be serious. "Well, after their work in Vegas was over, they took a little trip to the bar. It was, say, eight or nine at night." Her look changed again to a distinct expression of outrage mixed with a deep emotion that looked almost like longing. "Now, you have to understand the relationship between Anne and Matt. It was sort of like a love/hate kind of thing. She trusted him and was the first person she ever could, but she hated him for having a girlfriend and always holding back, being so up-tight. Matt cared for her, too, but already had a girlfriend who he apparently loved, and was held back by restrictions which he had vowed his life to. They would have fights, but also late-night talks. There were mis-understandings but also deep understandings they both had never had before. In fact, the first time she saw him she thought he was married." She tried to laugh but her voice cracked half-way. I almost laughed, until I thought about what she just said... (Did you have a fight with your wife?) (Wife, I have no wife) (That woman in the picture, I thought you two were married.) Sydney's eyes flashed darkly as recognition flashed in mine. Her death grip on my shoulders loosened but fear was glazing me over. I pretended I didn't know what she was talking about in case it was all just my mind playing tricks on me, but it was impossible to ignore her voice- the anger and sadness reflected in her tone captivated me and scared me at the same time. "Well, at the bar in Vegas they had a special drink- The Vegas Special, that's what it was called." "No." I whispered. "Now, this drink had some strange capability. It distorted your senses, made them clearer in a way. Showed you what you really wanted." I shook my head, muttering 'this can't be happening' over and over to myself. But she continued. "Now, when Matt and Anne came to this state of mind called intoxication, they looked at each other and something clicked. Forgetting all about work, all about rules, all about [i]sanity[/I], they decided to prove their new-found love to each other in a non-animalistic manner. Five minutes and a make-shift Vegas chapel later, their bond was sealed." Her face was distant, close to tears. "You're lying!" I practically yelled. My calm state of mind had drifted slowly to insanity, but this had pushed me over the edge. "Shut up! Just shut up! That's not true!" Her calm voice managed to speak over me. "After the wedding, the happy couple went and had passionate sex." "Shut up!" I yelled. I needed my hands to cover my ears, this wasn't happening, she was lying, lying, she was lying and no this couldn't have been true it was all a dream a dream and god I'm living in a nightmare... "And they lived happily ever after. Until six in the morning, however, when Anne woke up and left. Realizing her mistake, she sent a maid to lie in bed with her un-remembered husband. She hoped he would mistake the maid for her since he had been drinking that night." "Sydney, no..." I whispered desperately. This couldn't be happening, this wasn't real.. "She slowly remembered everything that happened, everything. So when she met with him, or saw him, or thought of him, it drove her insane because he didn't remember a thing. And she was forced to watch him and listen to him and smiled at him and nod and pretended everything wasn't so fucked up and pretend she didn't know how much she wanted him. Pretend she hadn't fallen in love with him. Pretend she wasn't his [i]wife[/I]." "Stop, Sydney, please, stop, stop, please Sydney..." She was crying now, and her tears slid down her cheeks and slowly dripped down to land on mine. But this was all a dream, she was lying, she was making it up, she was trying to mess with me, she was- "And every time she even thought of him she lost her mind. She even contemplated suicide. She, in one night, had potentially lost her job, her love, her best friend, and ultimately her life. She had screwed up the one thing she found worth it to live for." Her eyes were red and the tears didn't stop coming. By now all sense of control had been relinquished, we were just sitting there, lost in desperation, crying tearlessly in our own insane little worlds. "Do you want to know the ending?" I shook my head no, but I knew it didn't matter. "They both died unhappy and heart-broken. Somewhere they lost them selves and never were able to re-claim what they had. Their mistake drove them insane." Her eyes were completely red and her face was the saddest and most horrifying thing I had seen in my entire life-time. She looked lost and afraid. And alone. "So now you're going to have to understand why I need a new handler. Why I need to walk out of here forever. Why I need to walk away from you forever. I can't do this any longer, Michael. This, this life, it's killing me. I can't do this anymore." She bent down and kissed me once, then looked into my eyes and seemed to fade. "Goodbye, Michael." She whispered, then left the gym. I stayed lying down on the mat and allowed a tear to run down my cheek. When I drove home, I was more lost then ever. Somewhere in those five minutes she used to tell me what was wrong, somewhere in those five minutes she over-powered me and was vulnerable to me at the same time, somewhere in those five minutes that she told me everything I lost myself to her forever. 


	10. Ten

parte dias  
  
My life used to play out in brilliant shades of orange and yellow- colors so beautiful and rythmatic that you could look forward to waking up and seeing what tomorrow would be like. I used to be happy, optimistic, steady. Then one day I got flipped over and suddenly the bright florescent colors were replaced by sultry shades of gray. Life worked in fast forward and slow motion, but never stayed normal long enough for me to grasp and embrace that feeling ever again. Feeling content may be over-rated, but it would be nice if once in my life I could go back to my earlier hues. I miss the longing to live another day. Yet occasionally color will protrude- a slightly dampened shade of green that, although dark can still be brilliantly blinding. Still, even those times are over-shadowed by black, allowing me to put together the pieces of being broken rather then content. And that green has been blinding and it's been invisible, but somehow it's always there. If won't betray you, yet you can't escape it. My mother once told me something- "Those who betray with their eyes betray with their hearts." I thought about that once, watching my handler's eyes during a meeting- watching the reluctance, the longing. I was a trained spy. I didn't miss these things. But the second part of my mother's warning always came through to me- "Yet those who betray will betray again." I never used to understand her. She would tell me things, some hinting to her true identity, some warnings, some just out-right lies. This was just another of those phrases, like her well-over used favorite "Nothing perfect lasts forever." But passing again on it now, I can see where I have gone so wrong. The eyes that betray for me will betray against me. He will never always be mine- one day the fire behind those eyes will come back to do me over. My house was thankfully empty- I embraced the loneliness that radiated from my home. There wasn't that much to do- everything that had to be done had been, and everything that shouldn't be done had been done as well. This is why I allowed my broken body to slip into a blissful state of slumber. Glass shattered and a voice cursed silently through tears. I opened my eyes further to see Francie sitting by me, trying to clean up her broken glass of wine. Everything breaks these days. You can't find anything that lasts. She looked over and caught my eye. "Sydney..." She started. "I'll leave." I muttered, trying to get up. "No, Syd, I'm so sorry. I should have been there, I should have been supportive...I should have been your friend. I've just been having a really bad week, and then just your thing on top of that..." She finally broke and tears cascaded down her cheeks. "It's ok, Francie. I'm fine...." If she had been in a saner state, she could have easily seen I was lying. How the hell could I be ok? Finally she stopped crying. "I'm really sorry, Syd." "It's fine." "No, it's not! I'm supposed to be the one-" "Francie, please, you're going to make me cry!" She almost laughed and I almost laughed with her. Almost. "Thanks." She replied, wiping her eyes. "I have to go out later tonight with Will. Are you going to be ok?" "Yea, I'll be fine."  
  
** [i]Two Days Later[/I]  
  
[b]How did you let this happen?[/b] [i]I didn't mean...I didn't predict this[/I] [b]Predict this? It's a little late for that, now[/b] [i]I'm sorry. I thought things would be...[/I] [b]be what? Be normal? You thought he would help you?[/b] [i]no! I thought he would-[/I] [b]you thought he was different...you thought he was special.[/b] [i]dad..[/I] [b]fucking insane! You exposed us![/b] His voice runs through my head like a heartbeart, pounding away at the insides of my mind. [i]you exposed us, you exposed us[/I] I had to make him understand that this all was a mistake. I have to make him understand that none of this was supposed to happen, none of this should have ever have happened, that I didn't want this to happen, that it all was a bad (choice, sydney... what the hell did you think you were doing?) decision, and that (You exposed us) none of this ever should have been an issue in the first place and (You EXPOSED us sydney) he had to talk in that flat monotone like he didn't care and then (You've jeopardized everything!) talking about my job- my job isn't the fucking problem! I don't care if I'm exposed, don't care if I'm hunted down, don't care if I live to see the next fiery mass lift itself to perch in the sky. Don't care if this is the ending to my story. My ending should have happened a week ago, a week ago when none of this had happened, when I had a best friend, a job, a father, and a confident. A week ago when I was closer to normalcy then is humanly possible considering my circumstances. Before I slid that fucking door open, before I walked into that cage, before I... (YOU KILLED HIM, SYDNEY!)  
  
I wake up drenched in sweat. The little pellets of fear cling to my bed as I get up and walk over to the small window that looks out onto the gloomy world. The sun still hasn't risen. I don't think it ever will. 


	11. Eleven

Chapter 11  
  
9  
  
[b]February 13[/b] the calendar states in bold red letters. They protrude from the page and lodge themselves deep in my mind, reminding me over and over that today would last forever.The day my life will begin and the day my life will end. Things have never mattered so much. Never have I cared so little. The calendar can only momentarily distract me from the clock- red numbers tick up and up in an endless cycle that can never be broken. Sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour, sixty hours since I made the biggest mistake of my life. Sixty hours since I stopped living. Yet the clock continues to spiral upwards, counting up to the next day, the next day that I know will never come. Counting down the hours until I will drift away forever. Drift and die. Francie has been gone, but that wasn't anything I didn't expect. As long as you continuously preach your sanity and smile through clenched teeth, people will be happy to agree and go on their way. There are no such things as 'true friends,' not even 'true enemies.' No one knows anyone but themselves, and even when they know that they still can't allow themselves to trust their own judgement. Trust someone and die alone; trust yourself and die with thousands. Your choices are limited to what you live by. Your future may look promising but everyone ends up just the same as everyone else in the end- some people just have more fun getting there. I have not had fun getting to where I am now. As far as I can tell, the end of my life will be the highlight of the decades I have spent watching a plastic alarm clock tick from ten to eleven to twelve in a deathly shade of red. So all I have to do now is wait as thirteen turns to sixteen turns to twenty turns to a pile of wires and plastic on my floor. The numbers flicker black for a second, then reappear at 12:48. They remain there as I leave- one moment frozen forever in time. Never reaching tomorrow.  
  
10.00  
  
The phone is ringing again. It has been doing so every five minutes or so, my caller id informing me that Jack Bristow, Arvin Sloane, Agent Kendall and Mr.Devlin have all been trying to reach me, and that I have been, as I am doing now, ignoring them. The phone also informs me that I have seven missed messages. What popularity. Seven people calling to tell me one of three things: That they are going to kill me, that someone else is going to kill me, or that I am going to kill myself. People these days are so helpful. The phone vibrates in my hand and I am tempted to let it join my clock. The thing is dirty and has a piece of grass sandwiched between the fold-over lid and the phone. The screen flashed ten digits that I have been avoiding. I press the talk button and lay the phone on the table. The man can talk to me all he wants- it doesn't mean I'll listen. But before I walk off to do anything but answer, I can hear three words spoken in a seemingly desperate tone. Three words that scare me to death.  
  
10.30  
  
There is this feeling you have when you lose control, when you just let everything go. You let go of the steering wheel and leave it all to chance, leave it all to fate. Like that movie Fight Club that Francie loved. You have to consider the chance that you are one of God's unwanted children. Once you let everything go, let go of pain, let go of fear- then you can embrace life. It's only once you've left everything behind that you find what really matters. Even if I'm not blowing up five credit card buildings and becoming schizophrenic, I have been pushed to the edge again and again. I'm so fucking [i]tired[i] of people telling me what's wrong with me and trying to help me. So tired of everyone using me as a bag they can push around and order to their will. I've lost myself and all senses I have ever previously upheld. Words have sifted into meaningless jumbles and the world is going to collapse, yet still I can do nothing but sit here and drive myself to insanity. Pardon the pun. The warehouse sits just over the next hill and to the left. How simple it would be to just go straight and turn. My life will never make things that easy for me. There are three cards behind me. One white, one black, one a hot red convertible. Not exactly tracking material, but you can never be too careful. Lose your senses and you'll end up with one night that marks the end of your life. One man that marks the end of your sanity.  
  
I lose the white van by the second neighboorhood, and the black van stops at a house by the time I get back on to the main road. The red convertible had driven straight when I turned. It had obviously turned left as well, for when I turn into the lot of the warehouse there it sits, shiny and beautiful and red. Red. The color of death. Whoever said black held this honor had obviously never experienced death in it's true form. Black was the color of darkness, the color of solitude. Black was peaceful- a haven of sorts. Red was the real color of death. When everything came down to black and white, red was the only color that loved to seep through. Loved to torture you. Red was the curtains and the sheets and blood on the back of the convertible. Blood reading out my name. Shit. I double parked my van and jumped out. I ignored the car- for now- and ran into the warehouse, each footstep echoing the heartbeats I couldn't feel. Oh god, oh god, oh god... The middle room of the warehouse was covered in the very color of the convertible. Red. Everything was red and oh god this couldn't be what it seemed something happened here and my life, my life... The warehouse was filled with roses, rich red roses that seeped with double meaning. Roses, like dark chocolate- the sin of life and the taste of death, I had heard his voice, oh god, where was he? I ran past the roses and almost fell on top of the dark red stain. The stain was wet. It didn't take long to figure what had made it. 'Follow the red brick road' stained the dusty cement floor, and I realized for the first time that the roses made a road. Someone's idea of a sick joke. I wasn't laughing. This wasn't funny. I ran out of the warehouse and followed a thin red line that landed right at the empty convertible. There was a paper heart on the seat. The keys were in the ignition. This was too perfect, too planned. 'Happy Valentines Day!' The card shouted. I opened it so violently that the first page tore off and landed on the floor of the car. I didn't think the words 'from someone who loves you' would be inside the card. I didn't expect his signature. But I did wish to find any of these things, even a ruthless rejection. I didn't care, just as long as I was wrong, as long as this wasn't what I thought it was. The inside was a map. Lines running like veins running with blood...  
  
The great thing about following directions is that it takes your mind off of everything else nine times out of ten. I didn't expect to be lucky and the ten minute drive allowed me thousands of scenarios- Sd-6, CIA, KGB, my father, myself and oh god he has to be dead because blood doesn't dry that fast and The building was decrepit and small. I threw myself out of the car and ran inside, screw being cautious, I need to find him, I need him to be alright. Need him to be alive... I tore inside the small complex, ran through gate after gate until I saw him and oh god the blood, there was so much blood. I tried to run to him but all I heard was a small click that stopped me instantaneously. "So, Ms.Bristow, we meet again." The woman's light accent drifted through the air and I felt the barrel on the side of my head. "I suggest if you have any weapons you remove them now." I didn't carry any weapons and she knew it, but I didn't care. His face was dried with blood on it and one eye was shit while the other lay open and it was watching me...how could I tell him, how could I- "Well, Happy early Valentines day sweety! After that lovely present you gave K-Directorate a couple days ago we decided there was nothing to do but return the favor." "This doesn't have to do with him." I whispered. "Oh, this has everything to do with him. Back in Vegas your husband and you took something that was very special to my agency. Then you trashed that branch of our system. And you, my dear, killed one of our men with your little kick boxing routine. That man was very special to us. I have a feeling this man was special to the CIA, too. Or at least, some people in the CIA." She walked around me and the gun wasn't on my head anymore but in front of me while she walked over to him. She put a hand on his head. "See, I told you she'd like the present!" She smiled at him, then turned back to me. "He was planning on celebrating Valentines Day by suggesting running away to Hawaii and getting married correctly. But see, I here knew you would never go for something as lame as that." This was a dream, this was all a dream and she wasn't here and there was no blood and I would wake up, I would wake up and it would be- "See, I knew that you would prefer him to show his love in true ways. Like, I don't know, sacrifice. Love runs in the same color as blood does. One is destined to the other. You can't change that." He mumbled something and she punched him in the face. "What did I tell you about speaking up?" "You are a sick little bitch." His words came out slowly and almost incoherent. Then his voice became softer. "Sydney..." "Oh, shut up." She said, standing up and kicking him in the stomach. Blood spilled out of his mouth. "Please stop." I whispered. "What?" She turned to me, gun pointed and ready. "Please don't kill him. Kill me, I'm the one you want, please don't let him die, I love him, this is all a dream, this isn't real..." I shut my eyes but all that resulted in was squeezing out the drops of salty liquid that had been resting there. When I opened them again all I could see was his face, his beautiful green eyes staring at me sadly, knowing this was the end... "He's not dead." I whispered to myself again and again as if saying these words would somehow make them true. Anna looked over at me, then walked back to him. "You're right! With good paramedics, he could still survive." She smiled, her eyes mocking me. Then she cocked the gun and fired, shot after shot after shot until blood seeped out of his chest in waves of red. "Now I'd say three to five minutes." My eyes widened and then contracted. Everything was still but moving at an impossible speed. "Michael..." I whispered into the seeming darkness. Then everything came back to speed in a matter of seconds and there was a flurry of unattainable motions. Anna had put her gun away. She looked at me with dark eyes, but I didn't care, all I needed was him, he needed to be alive, she hadn't shot him, this wasn't happening... I threw myself on him and tilted his head back. "Michael...Michael...talk to me...please..." His eyes moved convoulsivly and his throat moved. Blood spit out of his mouth and onto my face, his voice came out weak. "Sss...syd..." "Everything's going to be ok, Michael, I love you, this will all be over, you're going to be ok..." I had his head cradled in my arms and tears slipped down my cheeks. Every note of sound was amplified a thousand times and I could hear the drops fall on the dusty cement floor in the impending silence. "Al..way...always, s-s-sydney. The su..." He swallowed and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His wound drenched his white shirt and my frail hands. "Sun will r...rise..tomm..mo..row." His eyes locked in for a second onto mine and my heart stopped beating. "No, Michael..." I whispered, bringing a hand up to touch his cheek. His eyes closed and the hand that had been in mine went limp. "No!" I screamed, tears drenching my face. I looked at his face still in my hands. He couldn't be gone, not now.... "Michael!" I let his head rest on the floor and jumped up to turn to see her. "You sick little bitch! You killed him! You fucking KILLED him!" I wiped furiously at my eyes and tried to jump on her. His eyes, so distant so gone and I was going to kill her with my own hands I was going to kill her and... I saw the metal before I heard it but I didn't care, nothing mattered now but him. "Why the hell did you do this? What good does this do you? Why not me, you little bitch? Why him..." All the energy my rage depended on seeped through my eyes and I fell to the floor, grasping desperately to any hope that I had left but found none. "Next time don't mess with us." I watched as her red stiletto heals clicked their way out of the little warehouse, then dragged myself over to him and placed a hand on his face. "Michael, I'm so sorry....michael..." There is nothing you can say to a dead man, no way to say everything you haven't said, no way to redeem the things you have done. Only people such as Romeo and Juliet get second chances. I didn't even have a way out. My heart was ripping my body to shreds. "michael..." I whispered again, knowing that his name would not bring him back and oh god what I wouldn't give to see him breathe again, to see the blood on his body be transferred to mine. I lay my head down on his chest. "I'm so sorry, michael..." I whispered. The world shifted to black and white and red and he couldn't be dead... I allowed my head to sink into his neck and cry into his soft mess of hair that was clotted with spots of red. My tears lead way for nothing but emptiness. I allowed the blackness to take me.  
  
11.00  
  
The chair has turned itself into a dark colored piece of furniture. Isn't black or white or red... I cant' distinguish anything else. All I know was that he's gone. Someone has taken him from me. I see a figure approach me. "Sydney-" "Where is he?" I demand. "Sydney, he's gone, the wounds-" "Where the HELL is he?" "He's at the hospital, but-" "I need to see him." My father looks at me, cheeks stained with tears, frail and alone. [i]Alone.[/I] The word is beginning to haunt my very existence. "Sydney, please...you don't want to see him like this." I know he's right but I don't care, I have to see him one last time, have to look into those eyes and have them tell me he's ok, that everything is fine and this is how it was supposed to be. Have him tell me the sun will rise when I know it wouldn't. That bastard. What right does he have to leave, especially after all of this? What right does he have to tell me it will be ok when he is leaving me heartbroken, to tell me the sun will rise when this goddamn day would last forever, to tell me he loves me as he's dying... And then all the while to have it be my fault, to die in my arms with his blood on my hands and on my face and in my veins...running through me and around me and oh god I can't get him out of my mind. My father is saying words to me which I can't process but he seems to be telling me I need fresh air and to get some exercise and to clear my mind and all I need is him why can't anyone understand that? He was my savior, my guardian angel, my obsession, my lifeline, my lover...he was everything I ever will be and everything I ever can be. My ambrosia and my nectar. He was all I had and all I needed. And now he's gone. The familiarity of the whole situation is too ironic for my taste. "What hospital?" I manage, and he looks at me with an almost sympathetic gesture. "I know what you're going through, Sydney..." He begins, and that little bastard, how dare he tell me he knows what this feels like? "What right do you have to tell me that? Tell me you know how I feel, what I'm going through. To tell me you care about me and my life when all you've been doing for seven years is pushing me further and father out of yours! Ok, so your wife turned out be working against you. Guess what, dad? The man I was in love with for two years did the same exact thing to me! Not only that, he also tried to kill me. As if that's not enough, my fianse was killed because of a job I wouldn't even have in the first place if it weren't for your fucking Project Christmas or whatever the hell it was. And now...no, don't even try to touch me. I'm done with your bullshit! You come to me and tell me you want to be my father...after all this time, it's too late for that. Danny, Michael...they were both better people then you'll ever be! So don't tell me you weren't there because of heartbreak, that you didn't tell me about your job because you were afraid of hurting me. You've already done too much. So just stay out of my life." Jack Bristow takes a step back. I get out of my chair and walk past him. He doesn't even turn to look at me as I leave. If he had, he would have seen the tears rolling down my cheeks.  
  
11.17  
  
There was no point in going, but I did anyway. They wouldn't let me inside the room, but I was allowed to sit outside and wait for those fated words. The petite blond comes out and looks around until she see me, her eyes lowered in an unspoken sadness that she must have encountered endless times in her line of work. "You are the victim's wife?" I can only manage nodding, fearing a break down if I attempt to speak. The woman lookes down at her chart. "Sydney..." My eyes mist over and I clutch the edge of the chair I'm sitting on. "Oh god..." "I'm sorry, mam, we did everything we could, but the wounds were too close and they punctured the..." Her words fade out to a dull nothingness and I sink back into my chair, eyes red and soar. "I'm fine." I manage to whisper hoarsely, and then repeat this statement again. I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince myself or her, but it works on someone and I find myself alone in the middle of a white hallway, sitting in a white chair and wondering where it all went wrong. It's this horrible feeling, to know that you can never look someone in the eye, can never talk to them, can never be held in their arms and if only I had a second chance... I can keep convincing myself that this is the last time, that three is the charm and I can get over him and I'll fall in love again, but the truth is I have never fully recovered from Danny, and only recently have the deeper scars begun to fade away. I will never get over Danny, and there will be no chance that I will get over Michael. And so you carry on with this sick desolation, where nothing matters but everything seems to need to. People who have never encountered these losses can't understand this feeling. Can't understand the pain the littlest things can cause, when just a comment or a glance of something can set off lifetimes of memories. When closing your eyes is the most painful torture you could possibly endure. I have gone through dozens of fights, dozens of failures, dozens of "dentist visits," but the pain caused by these is only skin deep- recovery takes as long as bones take to heal, and the permanent damage is left to a minimum. Everything does eventually go back somewhere close to normal. Normal. The world that plagues my existence. I am sick and tired of being close enough to taste the one thing I want and then have it taken out from view. Have it lost forever in the game of life and death, the strange ritualistic practices that can make someone's life and take it away just as easily. I can leave this hospital and I can move on and I can live my regular life without him. But part of me will always stay inside this death trap and never leave. Somewhere between here and home I will lose myself forever to this game I play, this game of I love you I kill you- my life is such a despotic version of that addictive little flower game, and never am I lucky enough to be able to have hate as a factor to get over someone, just always love and goodbye. Sealed with a bloody kiss. The hospital walls are closing in on me. My father is beside me and I know he wants to say something but he can't- he can't and maybe I should help him god knows all the things I should have said before, not to him but to Michael... "Sydney..." He begins, like always, just my name like he's proud of himself for knowing it or something. And then he'll go on to say he's sorry, that he wishes he was more involved in my life and for a few days sometimes it will even feel like we're making connection, like he's my dad and I'm his daughter. But then it's just him again, black states, emotionless and cold. I can't go through this whole process again. I've gotten close too him too many times and then had him just ditch me. And now the only person I run to I ran away from and look where it's gotten me. Alone by my fucking self. "I was just leaving." I whispered, trying to sound bold and defiant, but nothing is going right now, everything is spinning out of control and why the hell should I be able to walk away from something that will just screw me over again? No, I deserve pain for never doubting my parents, for risking my life for my country, for devoting myself so entirely to work that I lost control of my own life. Why the hell did this all happen to me? I can get up and I can walk past him. Walk out of this hospital and out of this life. But I'm so scared to leave, afraid that leaving will mean letting him go forever, never to remember the sound of his voice or the way the sun shines on his face at eight in the morning. Never remembering how he'd listen to my problems even when it was killing him inside, how he was always there wether I'd called him or not, that he just knew. To forget his smile and the way his arms felt around me...that would be I worse hell then I was living in now. Sitting here in this single framed chair I can still pretend that he will be ok, that now I I'm here for him and that the fucking blond nurse will come out and tell me that there's been a mistake, that there was something wrong and he's ok, he is alive and... My father doesn't let me pass him, an act that I am almost thankful for. But I don't expect him to think I'll let him get away with his "I am your father, you will listen to me" bullshit. He's never been there for me before, why start now? "What the hell are you doing here?" He asks me, his face which I thought was carrying a look of sympathy turning back to steel again, a look I am usually more prepared for but I'm not prepared for anything anymore, everything's been happening so fast and god I'm losing my grip, I can't do this anymore... "I told you not to come here, Sydney, why the hell didn't you listen to me? [b]Look at me![/b]" He roared, his voice shaking the ceiling lights.  
  
"Why the hell should I listen to you?" He tossed something at me. Manilla envelope. "Tell me whats in there." "How the hell would I know?" I shouted at him, getting up from my perch and up in his face. He picks it up and finds out for me, pulling out black and white stills of me and him walking down the aisle. Color pictures of the laughing, happy couple. The fucking couple that ruined my life. "Why the hell did no one know about this?" "Maybe if you were actually the father you're supposed to be, you would know! What right do you have to come here and make me feel bad about something when I don't give a damn what you think? Did you not get the message last time?" "Do you know who gets those security images via satellite? K- Directorate. The KGB. Anyone can! What the hell were you doing?" "What does it look like we're doing, Jack? Screwing the protocol that has defined my life for seven fucking years. That enslaved me, ruined me, screwed me over again and again." "You exposed yourself, Sydney! What did you think was going to happen, they would come up and tap you on the shoulder and ask you not to steal from them? Not to kill their bodyguards? This is how they give warnings, Sydney! How many times is this going to have to happen for you to get the message? There is a reason those doors are closed right now, there is a reason you are sitting here in the hospital, there is a reason why you are alive and he's not. I'm trying to help you, here." "Help me? By fucking breaking me-" I stop. There was no way I can finish. He's right, just as Sloane was those few years ago. I killed him. I fucking did this to myself. This is my problem and my fault and why does everything always come down to this? My father looks at me one last time, then leaves. I sit back down and curl into a ball. A small little black ball in a huge white empty hallway. Ever since he left things have gotten bigger and I have felt smaller. I'm incomplete now- I've lost something I can never get back. I stay curled up in the chair until a nurse comes to tell me the visiting hours are over. It's raining outside, big drops unfurling their fury upon the ground, wet tears raining down from the sky. I leave my car and walk aimlessly- I know I will end up somewhere some considerable time later, or lost, but all that matters now is just the water beating down on my body, ripping my pity away from me and replacing it with the intimate black of desolation. Things fall apart but they don't come back together. I will never fully heal from this wound, beyond the flesh, beyond my feelings, down deep into who I really am. He was my lifeline, I depended on him. And then he was gone. When you lost your only crutch, do you fall? Have I already fallen?  
  
11.40  
  
Don't move. Don't think. Don't cry. Don't care.  
  
11.47  
  
Things always move faster when they're put in slow motion. It's impossible for me to go back and review every moment I spent with him, every time we slipped and faltered, every time we made a mistake and made ourselves vulnerable. If I had ever read the CIA handbook, I'm sure it would have told me that attachment is a weakness. Finding someone you can get close to will end up getting you further then ever from where you wanted to be. I never wanted this to happen. Somewhere in my mind I was still rooting for a Cinderella ending without accepting that there is a point in your life when you have to realize that happily ever after is only Disney's million dollar lie. I thought we would last forever- this bond I had developed with him, stronger then I ever thought possible. Just being in his presence left me breathless. I couldn't imagine what life was going to be like without him. How could I walk into Sd-6, the CIA, any of the offices I work in without knowing that I can always talk to Michael, Michael is there and he will take me in his arms... If someone told you that love is like a song, somebody lied. Love is like a roller coaster, a hundred foot plummet. It's losing your breath and finding it only to lose it all over again. And then there's the end. The ride is over, you hit the ground. Love can take you away from everything but it will come around again and stab you in the back. Love is not a disaster, but it's not a cake walk either. There is a precious line you must stay on in order not to fall when the act is done. I fell off that line two years ago when I met him.  
  
I am still walking through the pain, these little pellets of fear mixed with bloody sympathy clinging to my face as I walk through the dimly lit streets. The sun set an hour ago. The time is 11:48, that time forever frozen in time. And he did lie to me, because the sun will never rise tomorrow, tomorrow will never even come. I will be stuck in this day, this moment of final indifference and desolation, of complete and utter hopelessness forever. No matter how many tides rise and fall, the sun will stay at the bottom of the sky until I can find him again. Maybe they were right- maybe the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Maybe anyone can overcome anything. Maybe some things other than emptiness last forever. But for me, the sun rises in hope. It sets in despair. And my small digital watch still blinks 11:48 at me, this time, the day almost over, my sins almost forgotten, my hopes almost reborn, my life almost renewed. And yet the clock will not change, just as the sun will not rise tommorow. I don't think it ever will. 


End file.
